


In This Moment We Cease to Exsit

by Taynado



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Demon Dean Winchester, Demon!Dean, Hell Trauma, M/M, Mild Gore, SU - Freeform, Unhappy Dean Winchester, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 17:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18266054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taynado/pseuds/Taynado
Summary: The night called to him. The dark oppressive black reached out, palming its sweaty touch down his flustered face. "I could devour you, and you wouldn't dare stop me" It growled, its mouth gently brushing down, down, down. "You don't have the guts. For I am untouchable."Sometimes, in his dreams, Castiel could hear the screams from damnation, like violins played in a violent crescendo that rises from the pits,  the very sound designed to make the heavens weep with blood. But it's when the screaming stops that Castiel is afraid of the dark.





	In This Moment We Cease to Exsit

  
1.

There are (were) (will be) times when Castiel couldn’t sleep, the pressure building in his chest just becomes too much and he feels like he could explode. He knows (knew) (will know) those nights are the worst- his own personal brand of eternal damnation. They arrive like the wind from the south, from the north, that harsh dry wind that leaves you blistered, sobbing for release. For his nights are long and he doesn’t really need sleep, just the break from this monotonous existence.

Once, Castiel thought nights were different (could be different). It was the soft taste of home on his tongue, the warm embrace of familiar that called to him. ‘Rest’ it would purr into his ear ‘stay’, and he would, every time. For he was weak, burning with the belief in humanity, in the existence of something so pure that he would be cleansed in holy fire just by gazing upon it. Then, it was gone, like dust on the wind.

Now, the night called to him. The dark oppressive black reaching out, palming its sweaty hand down his flustered face. “I could devour you, and you wouldn’t dare stop me” It growled, its mouth gently brushing down, down, down. “You don’t have the guts. For I am untouchable.”

“There is nothing here for you,” Castiel said (would say). He lied. There was everything here for the night, for the dark. There was an empty blackhole of void begging for release, to consume the world in its pain for a lover gone. Gone those warm summer nights and the night now was like heroine, painfully beautiful and it its core, addictive. “There is nothing here for you” he repeated but it would never leave, and he drowns (will drown) in its cold emptiness.

The dark leaves eventually (was it ever really here?), It always does, it gets bored of Castiel’s languishing - there are better people (things) out there to torment. It leaves him and Castiel has never felt so empty. At least the dark creates something, and something is always better than nothing. Isn’t it?

 ------

Castiel’s phone was ringing, he could feel it vibrating next to him on the bed. It was Sam, it was always Sam. Castiel didn’t know if he had the energy to pick up. He let the call ring itself out, it rang again. And again. Its screen the only thing lighting up the cold grimy motel room. Before Castiel left, before being in the bunker became too painful and the claustrophobia became a permanent fixture in his mind, Sam said Cas was running, always running, because he couldn’t face the truth, he had screamed it at him as Castiel sat with his head buried in his hands and the half full bottles of booze were so tempting. Sam had screamed it him when had entered Dean’s room like a cyclone, destroying everything in his path because looking it all was too much and Castiel was suffocating. He left that night.

Now, the hotel rooms reeked like the black rot found in the bottom of basements and the booze burned the tongue and scorched the throat as he swallowed it down, leaving row after row of empty bottles and the perpetual pit of despair just being a symptom of his own cowardice followed him like a shadow. Sam was right, always right. He was running, not that Castiel would ever tell him that.

“Sam.”

“Jesus Christ Cas learn to pick up would you, I think I’ve found him,” Sam sounded exhausted. He always sounded exhausted. Maybe the dark haunted him too- maybe it curled around him when he slept, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, reminding him that he was cold and alone. “Couple of hunters north of here think they ran into him at a bar”.

Cas didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had already found him – he was never really lost. He was there in that pitch black of fear, laughing at him, laughing at his poor broken heart. He was never lost, and he revels in their pain, stretches in it like a drugged-up alley cat. Telling them to stay away, don’t follow.

“Sam is this really such a good idea?” Cas said, raising himself to a sitting position, his head pounding. Pounding. Pounding. “What if we can’t get him back? Is it really worth it?”

“He’s all I have Cas, what other choice do I have?” Sam sounded so small, so defeated- He had heard this tone before. He heard it from another Winchester as he prayed for help, prayed for his brother’s salvation.

“I know Sam, but…” he grimaced, Castiel could never say no. Not to a Winchester. “I’ll be there.”

Cas hung up before Sam could say anything else. In the end he was the only thing he had too.

 ------

Castiel could hear his voice. He could hear his screams- those endless torturous screams that echoed of the very depths of hell. Oh! that land of eternal damnation played a beautiful song from those screams and Cas could hear them all, they played like violins.

“Cas” he called. “Caaaas, don’t you let them change me, don’t you let them take me!”

But he was powerless, and the screams grew louder and louder, the violins reached a crescendo unheard by the human ears, a pitch designed to make heaven weep with blood, until they stopped, they just ceased to exist. That’s when Cas became scared of the dark.

 

   
2.

 

When he stepped out the car (he couldn’t bear to use his wings anymore, those insidious mangled creations) Sam wrapped him in a hug designed to crush ribs.

“Cas,” he said as he pulled away, a clap on the back to indicate the end of what once would have been a heart-warming moment but now felt like the very grip of death. “It’s good to see you man.”

“You too Sam,” Castiel wished he was telling the truth, but Sam looked worse than he sounded, like the road kill left on the side of that long-deserted dirt track, rotting in the summer sun. He looked like the very soul Castiel knew he housed somewhere deep down, the one that marked him as the vessel for the damned, for the forsaken and the fallen lucifer. He looked like the rotting flesh of the unworthy and the dying.

They stood there, eyeing each other off – gazing into the lost connection consumed by time and heartbreak. A connection that disappeared into dust, like confetti. The silence grew. It gnawed at Castiel’s heart, stomach, brain. Speak, he willed himself, say something. Do something. Castiel has felt like this before, as the dark walked towards him and he felt fear. It was rising now. Bubblesbubblesbubbles upupup.

“Cas,” Sam rubs the back his hair with his bear sized hands and the image is gone leaving just Sam, warm loving beautiful Sam, Castiel’s friend, his brother. His warm, familiar voice ruins Cas’s impeding spiral into nothingness and he can see again, see through the lies and deception into humanity. It’s just Sam. “Look man, I know you think we should let this go but… I need your help. I’ve pinned his location. He’s nearby, well, the entry is”. Sam looks so hopeful, like a boy on Christmas before he realises that Christmas is a lie and family is never quite enough. “But Cas, I, I can’t do this without you.” A break, a pause, a choke. Sam stops and looks, imploring Cas Please. “It’s a Gate and I can’t pass.”

Castiel understands now. A gate, of course. He would go across the tumid river overflowing onto the rocky bank, he would go past the dead land, the cactus land and into the pit, he would look upon the shadow that fell between a motion and the act. An avenging angel once again for all those hollow.

“Sam,” He said, and ache building in his chest. “I’m not – I’m not what I used to be. I don’t think I could make it.” He reaches out to grab Sam, to hold something strong, something alive. Sam brushes him off. “And even if I could, he’s in hell Sam, I don’t think we will like what we find.”

“Cas, I’m begging you. He would do anything for me, he has done everything, don’t you know I would do the same? I need him Cas.” Sam shuffles his feet and rubs at his eyes. “I see him you know, in the shadows, he tells me to stay away. To let go.” He looks up and stares Castiel down, fury burning behind his eyes. “I will not let go.”

“You never say his name,” Castiel looks down, the ground better than the pleading eyes and the wobbling lip, the face that makes him feel so ashamed of himself he saw him in the shadows too, trapped, caught. He coughed, clearing that lump that roughened his voice and blocked his throat. “You never say his name Sam.”

“Cas, I can’t-“ Castiel glared at him, his eyes the blazing sword of the righteous heaven. Sam stopped, his mouth, open, close, open. “Dean. You have to save Dean.”

And in that moment Castiel wished he could just cease to exist.

 ------

“Can you feel it?” he whispers to the Dark. That monstrous figure that clawed at his eyes and devoured sensation. “Can you feel it? I’m close. And I’m coming. For you.”

The Dark screamed at him, its mouth opening into a gaping hole of void, the eyes black and ruinous. The opposite of the green glow only ever found in memories. The Dark hated him, Castiel could feel it radiating off it. Hatred and desire- a disgusting stench that blocked out everything and anything else.

“Give up,” it seemed to beg him “give up.”

Sam moved in his sleep, his eyelids twitching. No doubt a nightmare, a common trait in the Winchester bloodline, a gene dating back to biblical times. Once, Castiel brushed away the nightmares of a Winchester, night after dark night, but they still consumed him until he just- ceased. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to brush away Sam’s, couldn’t bring himself to relive that experience.

“You may find me, you may come for me,” the Dark sneered at him inching closer and closer only to dance away when Castiel reached out to pin it down. “But you will never, ever get him back.”

 ------

Sam stared at him from across the room, his food going cold. He wasn’t hungry, neither was Sam. For what was hunger in the face of loss.

“Cas I, I know he said somethings, you both said somethings. You know, before he left, but he loved you. More than anything. Please, when you find him. Remember that.” Sam said, his voice echoing off the empty walls of the bunker.

“He’s gone Sam.”

Sam slammed a fist on the table, the plates rattling and the glasses of water spilling. Once the table was a joyful place, filled with laugher and warm aromas, of beer and good hearty food and most of all love. Now it was just as listless as Castiel felt.

“He’s not” He growled. “You’ve just given up on him, like you do on everyone.”

Sam stood and stormed from the room, the path quaking in his wake. Castiel could feel that dark, sinful soul burn into the very air around him. Abomination. Heaven would cry. Abomination. But in the end, he was Sam. A Winchester. A brother. A Friend. Sam.

“Sam!” he called, wanting to bring him back, wanting to bring back connection. “I’ll find him I will. I promise I will find him.”

But he was gone, and the silence collapsed upon him.

 ------

Dean disappeared in the night. Castiel felt him go, felt him move from the bed and dress quietly. He did nothing to stop him, his pain too great and that thing on Dean’s arm burned them both. Sometimes when Castiel looked at him he struggled to see the soul he pulled from hell, the soul he stitched together with his own grace serving as the needle and thread, it was blocked by the dark mangled thing that had replaced it.

It wasn’t until Cas heard the revs of the bike, not baby but Dorothy’s old death trap that Castiel moved, appearing in front of the exit before Dean could disappear into the night.

“Where are you going?” He asked, his voice Stoney and cold.

Dean sighed, placing his feet on either side and balanced his helmet under his arm. “I’m leaving Cas, I don’t feel like me anymore.”

He knew Dean didn’t feel like himself, Castiel could see it in the way he moved, gently, like a predator stalking his prey. He could see it in the way the shadows followed him. Could see it in the way he struggled to remain righteous, the way he was always on the attack. Biting the head off anyone and everyone. But he was still Dean Winchester and that was better than nothing.

“Dean.”

“Fuck off Cas, let me go. This thing,” he said gesturing at his arm, “this thing is me now. I have to go.” He was panicking, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The shadows seemed to move around them, clawing their way to Dean. Until they were surrounded by the night.

“Dean, we can handle it. We’ll figure it out.” Castiel pleaded with him, reaching out to grab him, to catch him.

Dean placed the helmet on his head and kicked the stand. “Maybe I don’t want to.” He gave Castiel a soft look, one that had been eaten away a long time ago. “Don’t follow me.”

Castiel moved out of the way and Dean was gone.

Give up.

 ------

The dark cackled at him as he paced the garage, baby covered by a white sheet. “Gone, gone, gone” it crooned.

Castiel folded his hand into a fist and smashed it into the wall where the shadow just stood. “I know you’re still there, Dean Winchester. And I’m coming for you.”

The darkness dissipated leaving Cas alone with a throbbing hand and the overwhelming desire to disappear.

 

   
3.

He stood before the gate, that crooked thing of blackened stone, the smell of rotting flesh rising from its depths. Sam stood behind him, his presence a comfort, he would catch him if he fell, if he admitted this was too much and he could not go back. Hell was his weakness, hell would be his death. As with all angels, hell was his tormentor. That ashen, decaying pit – it would consume him, never to return. Sam would understand. He would not push or beg or plead. But the look upon his face would be the ruin of Castiel. That look of utter hopelessness - praying, hoping that Cas would not, could not fail. He would persist.

“Cas, if you can’t,” Sam clears his throat “if you can’t go back, I understand.”

And Castiel knows it’s true, Sam would understand – out of anyone in the world Sam would know the absolute consuming terror of hell, would know that pervasive sense of despair and damnation which had a life of its own, with poisonous fangs and a choking stench. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t fail. He was so close he could almost taste it. The end of the dark and the fear and that burning sensation of loss, of pure nothingness. He had to, for Sam, for himself, for Dean.

“Sam, if we – if I – don’t come back, please don’t come after us, there won’t be anything for you to find.”

“Cas- “

“I’m serious Sam, if I don’t come back. Run and never look back.”

And Castiel walked through the gates of hell.

 ------

Once, Castiel stood at the gates, graceful, powerful, beautiful. They held no power over him, and he was infinite. He had reached through the pits with one mighty hand, leaving destruction in his wake. He reached through that hellfire pit and yanked broken soul after broken soul out until he found the one and with a mighty roar, he yelled – Dean Winchester is saved.

Once, Castiel would have been able to walk through this gaping hole of a mouth leaving nothing but heavenly ruin in his wake, burning through the sulphuric air and scorching away the ruin leaving nothing but pure realise, direct from the heavens above.

Now, Castiel was so very, very weak from years of isolation and defeat. The gates tore at him with the burning winds of the lost. Join us, burn with us, it slashed at his damaged skin and pulled at his ruined wings, metaphysical feathers blinking in and out of existence as they fell into ash and blood. The path was long, and the way was so very dark and there were hands reaching from the walls, the floors – threatening to pull him down into the abyss.

“Cas” Sam called, his edges blurring as he was drawn deeper and deeper into the stomach of the beast. “Cas, please. Bring him home.”

Sam was faint and the pull of damnation was overwhelming, and everything smelled like fire and ash. He was fire and ash and ruin.

Bring him back.

\------- 

The Demon eyed him off, its rotting tongue lolled in its mouth, pulsating in hunger, desire. Its eyes rolled in its head as it wept blood, clawed hands scratching, scratching, scratching.

“Food” it moaned, reaching out towards Castiel, its skin splitting with larvae falling onto the blacken ground, causing Castiel to step back with disgust. “Come, let me eat. Let me consume.” It fell to its knees, clawing at Castiel’s feet, begging. It’s touches covered Castiel in a layer of grime, slowly blending him into the dirty, gritty landscape, becoming part of the burnt and crumbling land of razor wire and gore. “I’m so hungry”

“Where is he?” Castiel asked, his blade raised high above his head, staring down in contempt as the pitiful creature snivelled at his feet. “Where is he?”

“Hungry… so hungry” the small thing groaned as it slowly decayed into the melting asphalt of an old ruined highway.

Castiel raised his blade higher and brought it down, curses falling from his lips as the monster exploded, covering his coat in demon cuts. They faded away into the sulphuric air and he was alone.

\------- 

The darkness was everywhere here, coming in and out of focus as Castiel wondered the wasteland. Looking, always looking, it obscured the way, it chased him in the wrong direction, pulling him further and further down until the pit was gone and it was just that long suffering black of nightmares.

“don’t follow,” it would sneer at him. “You will not like what you find.”

This was its land, hell. He owned it- sometimes he could see Dean in the distance, obscured by the permeating smog but before he could run after him the darkness would consume him and whip him away. It played with him. This was its land and Castiel was powerless.

The darkness calls his name with long guttural moans, slashing at him with its teeth, claws, blades. “Castiel… Castiel.”

It’s always here in hell, that dreaded sense of oblivion synonymous with the dark, the night. Castiel could feel the fear building in the back of his throat, clawing its way up and choking him. “You’re mine now” it seemed to say, its breath the air, its touch the road and its voice those high painful screams. “You’re mine now.” It was the ruined road, it was the clumps of body attached to the barbed wire, it was the smog that obscured the red sky, it was the bare bones of the trees. It was each demon and each broken soul. It was everywhere, lodging itself down Castiel’s throat, it was in his head, heart, lungs.

He was choking.

It was getting dark

And the laughter was everywhere.

“You’re mine now.”  
   
4.

 

Days, months, years, days, months, years, minutes, seconds, days, months, years, days, months, years, days, months, years, minutes, seconds, days, months, years, daysmonthsyearsMinutes secondsdaysmonthsminutessecondsyearsdaysmonthsyearsminutesseconds days, months, years, days, months, years, minutes, seconds, days, months, years, days, months, years, days, months, years, minutes, seconds, days, months, years, daysmonthsyearsMinutes secondsdaysmonthsminutessecondsyearsdaysmonthsyearsminutesseconds.

Time made no sense here, in slipped and disappeared only to go backwards until there was just nothing. Castiel could feel it flowing in the air, like a physical force he could feel it brushing up against him as he moved through the ruined land, coals burning the bottom of his feet and the air burning him like acid.

Castiel could feel it all slipping out of him like a prayer, time, sense, self. He was not designed for this place, hell ate at him. Devoured him. Hell was the very stomach of the great beast lucifer and Castiel was lunch. Everything about the place seemed to pick at him. He could feel his skin breaking, blood and pus seeping out of him in a haze of yellow. He could feel his wings dying, feather after feather falling until it was nothing but bones. He was dying, soon he would just cease. Fall into oblivion. There was nothing after for him.

He wondered if that was so bad. Would it be bad to let go? To just give up and drift away like confetti, like dust, like snow. He would cease and suddenly everything would be painless. Once, he used to consider ending himself, and Dean. Their deaths would be beautiful and glorious, burning bright like stars. Their infinite energy would pollinate the world once again and everything would thrive. And everything would be painless.

The darkness laughed at him.

There’s no such thing as painless.

The mark on Dean’s arm seemed to glow when he slept, tossing and turning. It kept Castiel up at night, his restless movements, the sinister shine, the panting and the sudden starts. He wanted so much to just reach over and brush it off, burn it out of Dean. But he could see it attaching itself to his soul, he could see the dark tendrils intertwining with that beautiful soul, slowly rotting it away. Castiel could see it eating at it and he was afraid that in the process he would kill Dean too.

He thought about pressing his palm against Dean’s face and burning them both away, together. It would save them the pain, the suffering of what was to come, Castiel could feel it in his bones. Something was coming and this would just be so much easier, for both of them. But then Dean would blink awake, panic on his face and his mouth in the shape of an O, ready to scream and Castiel couldn’t. He couldn’t. Instead he would wrap Dean up in his arms and press his nose between his shoulders.  
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay” He whispered over and over again. A mantra pushing back the impending dark. “It’s okay, It’s okay, It’s okay.”

Neither of the believed it.

 ------

“You’ll never find him” the Dark taunted Castiel, stealing the breath from his lungs and knocking him to his knees, landing with a sickening crunch on the hard ground. “You’ll never find him, not really.” Its teeth were sharp against Castiel’s collarbone as it drifted down, down, down, its tongue like venom across his ruined skin. “You’ll never find him and soon it would just be you and me.”

The smell, sight, taste of the dark made bile raise in the back of Castiel’s throat, but he wouldn’t stand down. Couldn’t.

“Take me too him.”

The darkness froze, its touch freezing until Castiel thought he would break, obliterate if it moved away. He just felt so small, so brittle.

“What?”

“Take me too him.”

The darkness smiled with all its rotten teeth, growing, growing, growing until it was just a turbulent storm of black.

“Oh sweetheart, all you had it do was ask.”

It wrapped itself around Castiel, hiding everything, killing everything. Castiel couldn’t talk, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Who was he? What was he doing here? And most of all everything hurt, it ached like a hole in his stomach, letting the acid leak out, burning everything it its path. The darkness was everything and everything was the darkness.

It swooped in on him and Castiel was gone.

 

   
5.  
Castiel always knew he was going to outlive the Winchesters. That was just a fact of his life. For Castiel was immortal, at heart he was pure, radiant energy that was in everything and everything was him. Nothing would be able to kill him, not really. The Winchesters were human, soft, violent, powerful, weak humans. Their deaths inevitable.

He once thought that when they died in their blaze of glory Castiel would finally return to heaven with them, his family would welcome him with open arms as all three prodigal sons returned to the roost. For their souls was intertwined with Castiel’s and he would follow them to the end of the world. He would follow Dean far beyond that.

 -----

Castiel woke in a bed, Dean’s bed to be exact. His guns lined up the wall, a slowly growing collection of Vinyl underneath. His books were there too, Vonnegut, the Bronte sisters, Orwell, Beckett, Le Carre, stacked in their little piles. Almost hidden in the corners, unnoticeable from the door. Castiel didn’t understand why he concealed them, he asked once, and Dean laughed. “Sammy’s the smart brother man.”

Castiel woke in a bed, the sheets cotton and warm, an arm stretching across his chest, pulling him into something soft, firm. Castiel syncs his breaths to the slow drawn out movement of sleep. In. Out. In. Out. This was home. Home. Home.

Castiel wakes in a bed and rolls over. Dean opens one green eye muddled by sleep and then another.

“Hey,” he said as he pulled Castiel in closer, attempting to nuzzle into his neck.

“I had the strangest dream.” Castiel said. He felt wrong. This scene, it felt so familiar and yet so very, very wrong. Like a bad taste in his mouth lingering from the shots of loss. He felt heavy and out of place, like this mundane morning isn’t really here and he’s intruding on something intimate, something that doesn’t belong to him.

Dean sat up stretching his arms above his head, his shoulder muscles going taunt, a hand mark reflecting the light that enshrines him like the holy spirit. “What was it about?” He asked, falling back, his head landing on Castiel’s chest.

“I can’t remember,” Castiel scrunches his eyebrows. It felt so real, so transformative. Important. “It had something to do with you.”

Dean grinned wickedly, “Doesn’t everything Cas?”

Cas swatted at his head. “Not like that. I can’t remember.”

Dean was a warm comforting presence on Cas, he had always loved the feeling on his weight, of his touch. It always blazed like a furnace and reminded Cas that he was here, he was here, and he had a family.

He traced patterns on Dean’s golden lit skin, soft brushes down his chest, lower and lower and back up again in swooping circles. Dean’s breath was unsteady as Cas repeated. Again, and again.

“Cas- “

“Shh, let me enjoy the morning.” Castiel could feel it burning in his chest, the deep want for the man lying across him. He was an Angel of the lord and this, this morning, every morning. Him. It felt like the holiest thing he had ever done in his incredibly long existence. Dean was God’s finest creation, easing away any feelings of wrongness, of something not quite right. He washed them away. And Castiel drifts off.

\------ 

When Castiel woke up, he was in a dark room except for the blue glare from a tv on mute, creating shadows that jumped out at him as he blinked. The couch beneath him was uncomfortable and itchy- resting in the wrong spots. Castiel ached for something missing. He ached. Castiel felt disoriented, wrong.

A door opens, sending out a rush of hot humid air. A voice, cold.

“What do you want?” Dean said harshly. Castiel resisted the urge to flinch, like the bitterness in his voice was a physical attack.

“I had the strangest dream.” He said, rubbing his forehead, trying to ease a migraine forming right behind his eyes. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“Yeah. Right. Whatever.” Dean pushes his wet hair upwards, a mark on his arm flashing for a brief second before disappearing back into the shadows that dominated the room “Can angels dream anyway? I thought you guys didn’t do shit like that.”

Castiel opens his mouth and found he had no answer. Angels don’t dream. He doesn’t dream.

“I don’t know.”

“Course you don’t.” Dean grunts at him as he brushed past, heading towards the hallway that would take him to his cold room where Castiel would never dare enter. Looking down the stony cold corridor as he watched the retreating figure almost hunch into himself Castiel wondered when he left the couch, when did he leave the bathrooms, when did he enter the hallway to watch Dean leave him. Again. Again. Again.

Dean keeps walking. Leaving Cas alone in the dark. He drifts off.

 ------

When Castiel woke he was lying in the soft cold mud, rain from the storm clouds above drenching him. Next to him there is no one. There should be someone there. Castiel can feel it like a burning presence. There should be someone next to him. The rain keeps falling and Castiel prays it numbs him with a permanent sense of cold.

“Cas,” Sam calls running over to him, “Cas, man, what are you doing? It’s freezing out here. Come back to the bunker.”

Sam left a heavy footprint in the world, Castiel could feel it every time he took a step, it echoed in the land around him, in the people. It was no different now. Sam’s closing steps shook Castiel to his core. He felt sick, so very, very sick.

“Where’s Dean?” Castiel asks. His voice gruff as if he had been screaming. Maybe he had been, Castiel couldn’t remember. “Sam where’s Dean?”

Sam knelt down next to him, rain dripping down his face leaving patterns like tears.

“Cas- “

“Where’s Dean?”

Sam shook his head and placed his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking. Castiel couldn’t move, couldn’t sit up, couldn’t reach over to comfort him. Everything just ached. He drifted off.

 ------

_In my thoughts I have seen_   
_Rings of smoke through the trees_   
_And the voices of those who standing looking_

When Castiel woke, he was spread across Baby’s leather seats, Dean tapping a song out on the steering wheel, a slow melancholy melody playing softly through her old speaker system as he drove in darkness.

“Nice to see you awake Cas, I could do with the company.” Dean said, catching Cas’s eye in the rear-view mirror, lit up for a second by a passing car.

“Dean.” he said. Looking at him Cas could see the dark circles under his eyes, he could see the way his hair sat flat and the tense lines around his mouth. “I had the strangest dream.”

Dean nodded, still tapping along to the song. “That happens sometimes man, the trick is knowing if you’ve woken up.”

_Ooh, it makes me wonder_   
_Ooh, it really makes me wonder_

Cas noticed the streaks on the windows, lit up by street lights. Flash, flash, flash. The rain drifted softly down, echoing off Baby’s roof. Tap. Tap. Tap. They travelled in the night. A sense of peace washing over him.

“Am I awake now?” Castiel asked, reaching over and gently rubbing soothing circles on Dean’s tight shoulders, he could feel him relaxing slightly under his touch, as if he was starved for it.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by  
But in the long run  
There's still time to change the road you're on  
And it makes me wonder

“I dunno man, are you?” Dean flicks his eyes back up to the mirror, catching Cas’s. They looked so sad, like he held the secrets of the world behind them. Sadness always did look good on Dean.

“I don’t know, I think maybe I am.” Castiel said.

He turned and Dean was beside him, his leather jacket streaked with dirt and maybe blood. Baby was pulled over to the side, outside just dark. As if there was nothing else in the world but them. He couldn’t remember when they had stopped moving but he liked this, liked Dean next to him. Castiel sunk down into the seat, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder, trying to memorise the movement of his chest, of his body as he breathed. They sat like that for a while, listening to the rain that gently thudded on the roof. Dean clutched his had hard, like it was his life line to the world. And finally;

“Then maybe you should wake up now.”

_And she's buying the stairway to heaven_

 

   
6.

  
Castiel forced his eyes open. It took a while, they felt like they had been glued shut. Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, clutching his throbbing head.

“Hello Castiel.” He looked up and a shadow stood before him, a darkness.

“Where’s Dean?” He asked, frantically looking around. He was just with him, they were in Baby, in the rain, in the dark.

The air around him was stale, the kind found on an old forgotten highway, Castiel could feel the crumbling asphalt beneath him. And parked in front of him was the horseman of the lost and destroyed, an old shell of a mangled car.

“Where’s Dean?” He repeated.

The shadow, the dark, the swirling void of empty seemed to sigh. “Pitiful, Castiel.” And it moved. It rocked in on itself, morphing changing, growing. Its movements were grotesque to Castiel, it was all sharp and pointed, jabbing at him.

Monstrous. He thought.

 -----

Castiel opened his eyes, forcing them to respond to his will. It was something about this place, it was consuming him, devouring him and leaving nothing but dust. Soon, everything would be gone and he wold just be a memory.

The darkness wasn’t there anymore, instead it was just him, his back pressed up against the shell of a car, placed on a broken road surrounded by nothing. Hell, in its purest form, untouched by anything but darkness. The Darkness.

There was movement next to him, he could feel it as it brushed against his shoulder, touches along his neck. Pulling on his ear. But Castiel couldn’t find the energy to move. He couldn’t.

“Hey Cas.” A voice, Dean, whispered into his ear, so very close, close enough that he could feel his breath as he talked. He could feel it pressed into his neck, kissed into his collarbone.

Slowly, Cas turned to face him, using the car to force his body around, struggling to stay upright. Struggling to remain awake.

Dean sat before him, defeated. Quiet. Broken. Ashamed. He sat before him entrenched in a swirling storm of shadow, bleeding into the landscape around him, consuming it all.

For days after Dean left Castiel waited by the garage door, propped up by Baby as he waited for the Tell-tale roar of the bike engine to indicate his return, Sam brought him food occasionally – whenever he could drag himself out of his bed (He was still so very, very weak). Castiel had to remind him that he was an Angel and Angels didn’t eat. Sam ignored him.

“Don’t follow me.” Dean had said. And Castiel listened to him. He didn’t follow, didn’t chase after him. Instead he waited, for no matter how corrupted Dean became he would also come home.

It was then, during the night as Castiel sat guard. Waiting. That it came.

“Give up,” the Dark said. “Give up.”

“No.”

“Give up.”

“No.”

“Give. Up.”

Castiel looked at, that flicker in the shadow, the space that seemed a little, heavier, denser around him. He looked at it. Hard. Cold.

“Never.”

 -----

“So, Sam was right.” Castiel said, staring at him. “you’re still there.”

Dean looked at him in sadness, or maybe pity. Or maybe even hatred. Castiel could never tell.

“Cas, I’m not me, I’m not still here.” The Dark coiled around him, his eyes flashing black. Green. Black. Green.

It crawled across what little distance was left, curling up Castiel’s leg like a purr, stroking, nipping, it leeched upwards.

“It’s not me Cas” Dean said, three parts in a sneer one part filled with a bone deep sadness. “You and Sam, you have to let me go. It’s not me anymore. I’ve been trying to tell you for months.”

Cas could feel his face softening, it was Dean. And in the end his mission must be completed. Save Dean Winchester.

“Can’t you feel it Cas? When I come to you in the dark, in the night. Can’t you feel it? I’m dead Cas, what I am isn’t Dean.” Dean said, his voice harsh but underneath it all, he was pleading. Give up.

“No.”

Castiel fell forward a little, and then a little more, the atmosphere of hell was too dense on his back and it was crushing him slowly, his wings limp beside him. Dean caught him and gently pushed him back up.

“Cas, you have to go, Hell is killing you.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you Dean, I can’t.”

Dean leapt to his feet, his face morphing. Sharp canines ripping though his lips, horns oozing black blood down his face as sharp spines ripped through his skin.

“I’m not Dean” he yelled, his voice deep, reverberating off the very emptiness of everything, the only physical thing left – Castiel and the rusted car. “He died and all that is left is this. You do not want this Castiel.” The creature, Dean, stood before him panting, he looked monstrous, beastly, grotesque. As if this thing, the dark, had swallowed Dean and spat out a monster in his place.

“You’re lying” Castiel said feebly. “You’re still there Dean. Come with me, we can fix this.”

Dean, the thing, the dark, fell to his knees, his head in his ruined claws of a hand. “What if you can’t?”

And that’s when Castiel heard it. Fear.

“Dean” he said, leaning forward until Castiel had curled himself over the monster’s body, shielding it from the oblivion surrounding them. “For you I would do anything.”

 -----

They sat like that for an eternity, for a second, until Dean moved, morphing, changing, shrinking back. Every inch of his body moving in union until a very human Dean sat before him.

“Cas, I don’t know what to do. This is me now.” He said with a heartbreaking sadness in his voice. Give up.

Castiel could feel himself collapsing, finally, under the pressure of the pervasive sense of damnation that filled hell. Angels were not built to thrive here, and he was already so very weak before he arrived.

“Then we deal with that Dean. I will not leave you.”

Castiel fell forward, his head crashing into Dean’s chest.

“Cas!”

“I won’t leave you Dean, I just need to rest.”

Castiel closed his eyes.

   
7.

  
Dean had moved them while Cas slept, moved them somewhere warmer, where the dark wasn’t so dominating, wasn’t so cold. Here it just was. He thinks they were in the back of a car, a silent protector against the dangers outside. But he couldn’t be sure, not here where everything was wrong, and everything was never as it seemed. Dean was lying next to him, not really sleeping. Not really awake either. Something was different. He felt powerful. And Dean looked so very, very weak. As if he had given everything just to be here.

“Dean.” Castiel whispered, his voice like sandpaper.

Dean moved against him slowly, looping his leg with Castiel’s. “Hey Cas.”

“Where are we?” Castiel asked, trying to get a gauge on what was going on. He could feel himself practically vibrating with power, power that wasn’t really his.

Dean shrugged next to him, Cas could feel the movement as it brushed against his chest. It sat heavily with Castiel. This Dean with him. He wasn’t the monstrous figure he had seen before him earlier. He wasn’t his Dean either.

“What did you do Dean?” Castiel asked, his voice cold as it dawned upon him. “What have you done?”

“You were dying. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Castiel rolled into Dean, his face in his shoulder. Underneath that feeling of wrongness, of blasphemy there was just Dean. His leather jacket ad layers of plaid and his boots. They were all shredded through with black but still there. Dean would die here. Today. He had been for months. That mark on his arm slowly, painfully consuming him. Unless Castiel fixed him, fixed this. He could feel it in his bones, the ability, the will. Save Dean Winchester.

“Come home with me,” Castiel whispered into his skin as they flipped, Castiel pinning him down with his body, Dean’s breaths uneven and shallow and his eyes widening in confusion, in fear. “Come back.” Castiel pressed his mouth on a mole Dean always hides with his collar, he knew his skin like the back of his hand. He knew Dean like the back of his hand.

“Cas I can- “

“Dean,” Castiel said firmly, as he pressed him down into the seats, “Come back with me. Let’s go home.”

“Not like this.”

Castiel lent down, his lips just hovering above Dean’s.

“Not like this”

 -----

Cas could feel his grace shifting underneath his skin, he could feel it calling for Dean. It had been like that since the first stitch Cas had placed inside Dean’s soul as he ripped it from the racks. It had been that way since the first time Dean had lent forward and devoured Castiel with his pretty pink mouth, tasting of whiskey and lust. It had been like that since the angels called him before them and gave him is task, save Dean Winchester. It was no different now. It called for Dean, it begged for release. And Castiel would give him all.

He caught Dean’s lips in his own, slowly and then hard as he pushed, pushed all of his love, adoration, into him. Everything he had ever wanted to say, everything he had ever thought, he let it rise up with the soft blue and pushed. Castiel worshiped Dean with his hands, patterns traced onto his skin over and over again leaving faint red marks, his grace softly, gently, rubbing in as it spilled out of Castiel like tears.

“Come home” he said, begging as Dean slowly became undone, his body shifting beneath him as Castiel’s marks became heavier, more powerful. “Come home.”

And his Grace thrived on Deans breaths, on the hitches and the gasps. It pushed against him, tangling itself in the darkness radiating off Dean, slowly, ever so slowly it consumed it, eating away the angry dark until they were bathed in a ray of pure heaven. They were energy made from the Stars.

“Come home, come home” He spoke into Dean’s hair, his Ear, his neck, his chest, his thigh, his stomach. Everywhere. “Come Home.”

Dean groaned as the dark, the shadow, fought against Castiel’s grace but it was powerless and Castiel would do anything for him. The thing wanted Dean, but Castiel wanted him more. It would twist around Dean and he would catch it with his mouth, kissing it away. Dean threw his head back and Cas caught his throat, his mouth dragging lower, lower, lower. And inch by inch the dreaded, horrific dark disappeared, leaving nothing back scars along his veins, the mark gone. And in that moment, that one shining moment. They ceased to exist.

Inch by Inch it all disappeared until there was only Dean Winchester underneath him, looking at Cas as if he was the Stars.

“Come Home” Castiel panted grabbing Deans hand and pressing it against his chest so he could fell Castiel’s heartbeat.

“Okay.”

Castiel lent back down and caught Dean’s lips again as he arched up.

“Okay.”

 

   
8.

  
Sam met them at the gate, he stood against Baby, mud splashed up her sides. He looked tired but for the first time in months, hopeful. When Castiel walked through, Dean pressed to his side, he remembered what a beautiful figure lucifer looked when he had Sam. And he was so lucky that Sam was more powerful than he ever could have imagined.

“Sammy” Dean said weakly, the door to the pit slamming closed behind them. The air shook from in and Dean sank to his knees, dragging Cas with him.

Sam rushed over, catching dean in his massive arms and he and Cas gently lowered him down.

“Hey man, you can’t stay here. Come on, let’s get you home.” Sam said, his voice shaking as he smiled, Castiel thought he saw a silver tear trace down his face.

“In a minute Sammy, I just need to rest.” Dean said closing his eyes, a soft smile forming on his lips.

“Whatever you need man, whatever you need.”

 ------

The days were shorter now, Castiel found himself drifting in and out of sleep some nights, awoke to a cramping feeling in his stomach. Time was different for him. So was the world. But he held no regrets for his actions. He would do anything for the Winchesters.

The days were shorter now, the nights colder, sometimes he could feel the chill in the air, it would sit in his chest and ache, reminding him – he was different now. Sometimes it would send him spiralling, he longed to feel right again but most of the time it served as a reminder. He would do anything for the Winchesters.

The dark no longer haunted him anymore, Castiel found solstice in it. He knew Dean did too. He would roll over in the night, his eyes flashing open when he found no one next to him. Instead Dean would be in the garage, on the roof, in the kitchen. Always in the dark. Always awake. He would turn when Castiel called his name and smile.

“I like this.” He would say, gesturing towards Castiel.

Castiel would smile and reach out for Dean, every time.

The dark no longer haunted them anymore.

\----- 

He sat along the empty stretch of road, his back against baby’s tire as Dean hummed to a Kanas song playing softly on the stereo as he fiddled around under the hood, oil covering the bottom of his white shirt. There was a beer in Castiel’s hand, and the sun was a warm kiss across his face. Every now and then Dean would look up from the car and shoot him a grin, the sun and the driving giving him a soft golden glow, freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose.

Sam had recommended a holiday, a week to kick back on the beach – something they had been promising themselves for years. They packed the car after they found Dean surrounded by the glass shards from the mirror. After they found Sam sitting on the floor unable to move. “Dean, where’s Dean.” He repeated again and again. After Castiel slept through one day, and then the next.

The sun and the rest did them good. The days lazing about, away from the bunker, it didn’t fix them (could anything) but it was a step in the right direction. He knew Dean still woke during the night, still felt a pressure on his chest, stopping him from moving, from breathing. And he knew Sam still stressed when Dean left, to go to the shops or to go for a swim. But he was doing better, they both were, they all were.

“Hey guys, so get this,” Sam called from his perch on the boot, his feet resting on the cooler and a laptop placed upon his lap, “I think I found a case.”

Dean’s face split like the Cheshire Cat, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay then, let’s go.”


End file.
